


In His Heart

by archaeologist_d



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Era, Canon Related, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, During Canon, F/F, M/M, Temporary Character Death, Uther is a dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27357163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archaeologist_d/pseuds/archaeologist_d
Summary: When Arthur finds out Merlin has magic, he doesn’t know what to do. He’s furious, of course, but it’s Merlin. Should he kill him, help him escape, or protect him as best he can from Uther? Some choices are no choice at all.
Relationships: Gwen/Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 113
Collections: Merlin Holidays 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [schweet_heart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/gifts).



> **Author's Notes:** Before the end of season 2.  
> Before the end of season 2.  
> My beta was fabulous. She went through everything and made some excellent suggestions for changes. But, of course, all mistakes are mine!  
> I loved the prompt the moment I read it. So thanks so much to schweet_heart for the prompt and the inspirarion to write it.  
> And many thanks to the Merlin Holidays mods who made this fest very smooth and enjoyable!

Agony spearing his chest.

His throat full of blood. Hot, metallic, choking him as he fell.

Gods, the pain when he hit the ground. Trying not to breathe because there was burnt lightning in his lungs, but he had to, and it was worse than anything he’d ever felt before.

Everything jagged, sharp, a tide of fiery agony stabbing him from the inside out.

Someone shrieking his name. Merlin’s face blotting out the sun. His eyes golden. Babbling nonsense.

Arthur took another breath, and blazing hurt spread up into his skull. His chest was on fire. Rough hands holding onto him, Merlin’s voice roaring something, then sunlight blinding him as Merlin was yanked away.

Shouts behind him, his name called out, then screaming. Merlin there again, his eyes molten, bright as the sun. 

Arthur coughed. Pain exploded in his chest. Vision blackening around the edges. Merlin sobbing.

He couldn’t breathe.

Arthur gave up trying.

* * *

It was evening when Arthur woke up. Remembering the pain but when he moved, there was nothing but a small ache, almost as if whatever had happened to him healed some time ago and left only a scar.

In the corner, Gaius was fumbling with something, and as Arthur called his name, Gaius turned around, a vial in his hand.

Even tired as he was, Arthur could see that Gaius seemed to have aged a dozen years. Stooped over, grief in his eyes, but a moment later, he straightened, then hobbled over to Arthur and handed him the potion. “Drink it all down, Sire. It will help with the pain and healing.”

He didn’t feel that bad, so instead, knowing that Gaius’s potions tasted like the worst of the cesspit on a hot summer’s day and he wasn’t in the mood for the inside of his mouth to taste like horse piss for hours, he put it aside.

“What… what happened? How long have I been unconscious?” Arthur said, looking around. “Where’s Merlin? Is that lazy sod in the tavern again? I swear, I’ll put him in the stocks for a month.”

Gaius jerked back, his mouth slack a moment as if Arthur had hit him and he didn’t know how to respond. Taking a deep breath, Gaius said, “The joust didn’t go well, Your Highness. Sir Leon’s lance splintered just as your horse faltered and pieces of wood went into your chest. It was a near thing.”

Blinking at him, the words making no sense because he really felt fine except for being a bit tired, Arthur said, “I don’t remember it. How long was I unconscious?”

“A few hours.” Gaius looked ill when he said it, turning pale, almost green-tinged, and he stumbled back, his body hitting the table, and stood there. He seemed utterly gutted.

It didn’t make sense. Wounds like that would take weeks or even months to heal.

Reaching out, pulling his tunic down to examine his chest, he could see the raised bumps where something had gone in, but they were smooth scar tissue, long healed, and nothing hurt when he pressed at it. “Gaius, this… there should be gaping wounds and blood if it’s been only a few….”

Uther burst in, and strode over to Arthur, ignoring Gaius, ignoring everything. As he sat down next to Arthur on the bed, he said, “Gaius has assured me that you are well.” Glancing down at Arthur’s open shirt, seeing the closed wounds and healed scars, he gave a relieved smile, then glancing a moment toward Gaius, he said, “Leave us, Gaius. I would talk with my son.”

Gaius gave Uther a bow, then hurried out the door, looking at Arthur a long moment before closing it.

But Uther had already turned back to Arthur. Uther’s relieved smile turned sour, and his eyes narrowed as he said, “Can you promise me that you didn’t know about that sorcerer of yours?”

“What? What sorcerer?” His father was often skating on the edge of mania when it came to magic, but Arthur had no idea what he was talking about.

“The sorcerer, that boy of yours. Merlin.” Uther looked like he had swallowed a putrid piece of meat. “He used magic in front of the whole court.”

“But… Merlin? That’s… insane.” It just wasn’t possible. The idiot could barely keep up with his chores and he was terrible at most things. To use magic was certainly beyond his feeble skills. It was incomprehensible.

“He hurt a number of guards and three of the knights. Sir Geraint has a broken arm, Sir Owain broken ribs, and Sir Kay has a concussion.” Uther must have seen Arthur’s confusion because he said, “He wouldn’t let anyone near you while he used his vile arts on you. When they tried to get him away from you so that Gaius could deal with your injuries, he used magic to throw them across the field.”

Arthur couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that Merlin of all people used magic. On him. It was just impossible.

Blinking up at his father, Arthur said, “So, Gaius didn’t heal me? Merlin did? Using magic?”

Impatient, Uther drew back, his mouth pursed in displeasure, his frown deepening. It was almost as if he were reacting to Arthur’s words as a kind of rebellion rather than for what it was, disbelief. Perhaps if he had seen it for himself, but except for the barest memory of golden eyes, all Arthur could remember was pain and Merlin sobbing his name.

His voice cold, Uther said, “It doesn’t matter that he saved your life, Arthur. I may be ever grateful for it, and I have been gracious enough to allow him one night to repent his corruption, but the law is the law. Merlin will die at noon tomorrow. The pyre is being built even as we speak.”

There was a growing anger there, simmering under Arthur’s breastbone. Arthur wasn’t sure if it was Merlin he was furious with for getting caught up in some sorcerer’s wily plan to destroy their bond or friendship or whatever the hell they had going on between them or if he blamed his father for seeing sorcery in everything. Or that, worse, he was beginning to believe that Merlin did have magic and had been hiding it all this time.

Still, he had to make sure.

“Merlin, my manservant? The one who trips over his own feet and cries when I kill something fluffy? That Merlin?” Arthur said.

“He’s been lying to you from the very beginning.” Uther’s face hardened, his scowl so deep it would seem to cut into his skin. Flat, hard, implacable, Uther said, “His deception has been without peer. No one saw through it until this morning. Although I have my suspicions that Gaius might have helped. The boy denied it, of course.”

Arthur looked away from Uther’s fury. His fingers explored the scar tissue, relieving some of the ache, but as Arthur pressed in, the memory of pain and Merlin babbling and golden eyes was becoming clearer. Still, almost without thinking, Arthur said, “It’s just not possible. He wouldn’t….”

“I saw him use magic with my own eyes. It’s not in dispute.” Uther reached over, his gloved hand squeezing Arthur’s shoulder, sending a shock of pain as his grip tightened. “I hope that he hasn’t enchanted you. Although if he has, it does not matter. Any spell will die with him.”

Arthur didn’t pull away. He knew from past experience that more pain would follow if he did. But that didn’t mean that he’d just sit there and take it without protest. Wincing a little, he said, more softly, trying to placate Uther, “Father, please, there must be some other explanation. Perhaps Merlin was enchanted himself.”

For a moment, it would seem that Uther actually thought about it. Then, with another hard squeeze, he let Arthur go.

Standing, straight and tall, looking as much of an executioner as a king, Uther said, “I can see this is a shock to you. Very well, I will give you some time to come to terms with it. But make no mistake. He dies tomorrow.” Winter-cold, Uther glared down at Arthur. “You will not oppose me in this.”

When Uther was like that, there was only ever one response. “Of course, Father, the law is clear.”

That seemed to placate him. “Good. I would not have to restrain you, but I will if I must.” Then as if the last few minutes had never happened, Uther smiled. “Get some rest. There will be a feast after the sorcerer’s execution. I expect you to attend.”

Sometimes Uther was terrifying.

All Arthur could do was say, “Yes, Father.”

* * *

Arthur didn’t have time to process it all. The memories were coming back, strong and sure and horrifying. Remembering the shock of wood piecing through his armour into his chest, the agony of breathing, Merlin above him with golden eyes and the force of magic tugging at his wounds. There was pain, too, as the wood pulled out, a fire of healing flesh not meant to be melded together so quickly and everywhere was Merlin chanting, Merlin sobbing, Merlin begging him to stay. 

And with that, came anger as painful as any lance to the chest. Lying to Arthur every single day. Merlin’s smiles, his jokes, the way he’d tease Arthur about eating too much and fat heads and toads. Inventive insults, made-up words. Help with speeches and banter and a bed-rock belief that Merlin would always be there as friend or someday something more.

All of that, all turning to ash.

Lies and lies and lies.

Past, present, and now no future. All because of magic.

His father was right after all. Magic corrupts all that it touches.

And Arthur would find a way to cleanse himself of it, somehow.

* * *

Morgana never learned to knock.

Arthur was eating—not eating—supper, picking at what he-could-only-assume was delicious herb-encrusted capon. Ignoring the voice—not Merlin’s, never Merlin’s—in his head that maybe he’d need another notch in his belt, that they’d have to widen the door if he kept it up, he looked up to find her glaring at him.

“You have to do something. Uther is going to kill Merlin if you don’t.” She stood there, imperious, stamping her foot, and looking as if she expected him to jump to his feet and go off into battle.

Deliberately, he pulled off a piece of meat and shoved it into his mouth. It tasted like dust.

Chewing slowly, staring at her, finally, as he swallowed, he said, “He used magic before the entire court.” He tried to make it sound as if he didn’t care. He wasn’t sure he succeeded.

But she didn’t seem to notice how very much he did care. Scowling, sounding incredulous, she said, “He’s been hiding it. Do you blame him?”

Just the thought of Merlin keeping secrets sent a flash of hot anger through him. Shoving his chair back, he slapped his hand hard against the table. “He should have told me.” When she looked at him as if he’d lost his mind, he snapped at her, half-shouting, “What?”

“You can’t be serious. Telling you? You are your father’s son. You’d have chopped his head off without a second thought.” Most people would have turned into dust with the withering look she sent him. She shouted, too, never a good sign.

Ignoring her, Arthur walked over to the fireplace, leaning against the mantle and staring down into the blaze. Some other servant, faceless, silent, had built the fire up at some point. Arthur didn’t know when. Merlin would have moaned about it and chattered about the cook chasing him out of her kitchen and the latest gossip of who was courting and who was not, and it was all just noise now. The fire popped and sizzled and filled the silence.

Finally, refusing to face her, Arthur murmured, “He used magic.”

Standing beside him, she said, soft and low, “To save your life. He’s going to die if you don’t do something.”

“Morgana, he’s a sorcerer. He broke the first law of Camelot. There’s nothing I can do.”

His anger was gone, leached away, and all that was left was despair. He closed his eyes a moment, then glanced at her before turning back toward the blaze.

Drawing close, putting one hand on his arm, she must have seen something that even Arthur couldn’t admit. His head was full of contradictions and confusion still, his upbringing warring with the knowledge that Merlin had magic and yet was Arthur’s dearest friend.

She only made things worse when she said, “What hurts more? Thinking you should hate him, or knowing that you don’t?”

Both, neither. Arthur didn’t know anything except that Merlin was a knot that Arthur couldn’t undo. Finally, he said, “He lied to me.”

“Everyone lies, Arthur. Even you.” She drew back, then staring at him, she said, “If you do nothing, I swear I will never forgive you.”

* * *

When Morgana left, no matter what she threatened, Arthur knew he had to think beyond his own feelings and decide what was best for the kingdom. Camelot always came first with him, beyond his own life, certainly beyond anything he might feel for a friend.

But that was easy to say and hard to do. His heart, underneath all the scars, wanted one thing, his head another. A battle within of endless questions and grief and rising fury at being duped.

Apparently, he didn’t know Merlin, not at all. He’d been hiding who he was for years and anything Arthur might feel for him was based on lies and deliberate misdirection. For everyone’s sake, Arthur needed to throw out anything he thought he knew and try and figure out what was real. Only then could he make a decision about what to do next.

One thing could not be avoided, though. He had to confront Merlin.


	2. Chapter 2

The dungeons were never pleasant, but Uther had thrown Merlin into the deepest of them. Fear of magic was a powerful motivator. Arthur resented that his father hadn’t at least made Merlin’s last hours a bit more comfortable. He’d saved Arthur’s life after all.

The smell of decay and human waste was stifling. On the walls, there was wet and mould, the straw on the floors hadn’t been changed in months. Arthur could hear rustling, too, the rats busy with the dregs of food. At least, Arthur hoped it was food and not something more sinister, like the rotting corpse of a forgotten prisoner. And he heard, too, the sounds of grief.

He followed that down, down into the bowels of the earth.

Merlin was huddled in the far corner, his face buried in his knees, his thin arms tucked in as if trying to conserve warmth.

It was damned cold, so much so that Arthur could see his own breath turning white in the frigid air. Merlin must be freezing. He was always far too thin. 

Much as he wanted to help, to fold Merlin into his arms and rub his back and warm him up, to gather his cloak around him and see him smile, even if he believed that Merlin was harmless, he couldn’t. Uther would hear of it and make things far worse. Arthur stood there, outside the cell, watching Merlin shiver.

Finally, Merlin must have realised someone was standing there. As he looked up, at first it was as if the sun had come out, his smile blindingly bright, his eyes so full of love and relief that Arthur felt hard guilt settle into his chest.

Merlin scrambled up, then started to reach out to Arthur, almost as if he thought they were still friends. But when Arthur stepped back, Merlin’s smile faded, then died entirely. He looked haunted.

“I’m glad it worked at least. I’m glad that….” Merlin stumbled to a stop.

Even now, he’d hoped that Merlin would deny it and come up with some reasonable explanation that he could take back to his father. Merlin always had before. But that was when Arthur believed in Merlin’s lies. 

Wanting to rage and scream at the fool, instead, he pulled in his anger, turning it to ice. “So it’s true. You used magic on me.”

His voice rising in volume and disbelief, Merlin said, “You were going to die, you arse. Did you expect me to just stand by and watch you bleed to death when I could save you?”

How dare Merlin be upset about it? How dare he even think using magic was acceptable?

Wanting to shake him until some sense finally sunk in, knowing that it wouldn’t help, Arthur snarled, “Magic is forbidden in Camelot, you idiot. You of all people should know that. You’ve seen enough sorcerers put to death for it. How could you be so stupid?”

“You were _dying_. You were in pain. I… couldn’t stand to…,” Merlin shouted, then letting out a sob, he turned round and round inside that foul cell, tugging at his hair, muttering something about clotpoles and royal prats. He finally stopped and scowled at Arthur.

“You know what, yeah, I shouldn’t have. I should have been thrilled to see you choking on your own blood because that’s what sorcerers do, don’t they?” There was sarcasm and fierce fury there, and Merlin was trembling, looking like he wanted to reach through the bars and throttle Arthur. “I don’t know why I ever… what a fool I’ve been.” He buried his face in his hands, his breath hitching a little.

For half a second, Arthur wanted to open the cell, pull Merlin into his arms and comfort him. He could never bear to see Merlin unhappy. But then he remembered how Merlin had been deceiving him from the first moment they met. His anguish could be a façade, just as so much else Merlin had deceived him about over the years. That very real possibility drove Arthur deeper into accusation.

“Don’t expect me to help you. You lied to me. Every day, you lied to me. And I told you everything. I let you in. I trusted you!”

Merlin stilled. Looking up, his face wet with grief, his eyes reddened, he stared at Arthur. Then Merlin was moving, his hands gripping the cell bars, his eyes wild. Arthur jerked back, out of reach.

Arthur had never seen him so angry or so dangerous.

“I gave you everything. My life, my hopes, my magic. Have you any idea of how hard it is to play the fool, to lie to you about who I am? I’m a ghost, a shadow, a nothing that you can order around and throw things at me and insult. A _monster_. And I took it, day after day after day, because you were the most important thing in my life and I thought that under it all, you were my friend even as I was always yours.” Merlin banged on the bars, his hands slapping at the metal. The sound echoed down the tunnel. “But you know what, Your Highness, fuck you.”

As Arthur stared at him, Merlin stumbled away, rubbing at his arms in the cold, then shrugged as if he’d finally decided it wasn’t worth the effort. “I’m going to die tomorrow, and you will stand by your father’s side and smile and wave and have a feast afterwards because another filthy sorcerer is dead.”

“Merlin….” The horror of it was that Uther had said the same thing. Merlin wasn’t wrong.

Shaking his head, his voice wrecked from disappointment or despair, Merlin said, “No, don’t excuse it. You are a Pendragon after all. It was my mistake to believe in you, to lo….” He closed his eyes, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I have to uphold the law.” Arthur was desperate for making Merlin understand that there was nothing he could do, even if he wanted to. And under his scars and the heart that was still beating after all that, Arthur wanted to, very much.

“Yeah, got that.” Merlin nodded, then looked down at the filthy straw before gazing back at Arthur. “I’ll ask one favour, though. Tell my mum I died saving you. She’d like that. I don’t want her to think it was her fault I died. For sending me here. I don’t want her to… hell, you aren’t going after her, are you?”

“No, never. Hunith is safe.” Arthur could never hurt Hunith. She’d welcomed him, when in the end, he was going to let her son die. The least he could do was protect her.

That seemed to quiet Merlin. “Good, good…. Umm, thanks.”

One thing Arthur had to know because it didn’t make sense for Merlin to remain in his service all these years when he had to know it could mean Merlin’s death in the end.

“Merlin, why did you stay in Camelot? You could have gone anywhere,” Arthur said.

Merlin gave another shrug, his voice almost indifferent as he said, “How could I leave? You were here.”

Arthur’s heart stopped at that. “Merlin…”

But Merlin turned away, shuffling back into the corner of the cell, sitting down and burying his head into his knees. He whispered, “Just… just… go.”

Arthur went.

* * *

Wandering the hallways, Arthur tried to avoid everyone, ignoring bows and murmurs of sympathy and inquiries after his health. The worst was when someone would mutter about sorcerers and how they deserved to die, thinking to curry favour with him, and it was all Arthur could do not to cut them down where they stood.

He wasn’t sure what made him climb the stairs to the roof, but finally standing next to the railing, he breathed in the night air. He often came up there, seeking clarity and peace in a world that seemed to have gone mad.

But tonight, his thoughts wouldn’t settle. He had to figure out what to do about Merlin and he hadn’t a clue. It didn’t help that the last time he’d been up there, he and Merlin had shared wine and Merlin told him the latest gossip and made him laugh. It seemed a lifetime ago.

Below him, Camelot was a soft glow of torchlight and candles. In other circumstances, he would smile at the sight, the beauty of his kingdom spread out before him. But when he looked down into the courtyard, the pyre, dark wood piled high, was centre stage, a stark reminder of tomorrow’s entertainment. Where Merlin would scream his last.

Shuddering at the thought, it didn’t take Arthur long to return to his chambers.

Gaius was waiting, papers in hand. “Have you spoken with Merlin, my lord?”

Ignoring the question, he threw down his cloak on the bed, only then realising that he should have left it behind in Merlin’s cell to warm his once friend, and had instead walked away and left him to shiver in the dark. Arthur stared down at it and tried not to think.

But when Gaius asked him again about Merlin, Arthur’s shame made him furious. “He admitted that he was a sorcerer.”

Usually that would get Gaius to back off, but this time, as Arthur glared at him, Gaius got that stubborn look in his eyes.

Mouth pursed, chin up as if for battle, Gaius said, “I would speak on his behalf.”

“The law is clear.” Arthur undid his belt and threw the sword down onto the table. The clatter sounded loud in the tense silence.

“Very well, my lord. But you should know what he has done for you over the years.” Gaius could be immovable as a rock, sometimes.

Arthur turned on him, snarling, “Besides lie to me?”

Looking at him with pity and a kind of disappointment Arthur had not seen in years, Gaius said, “There were times when he came home battered and bruised and wouldn’t speak of things he’d done for you but these are the things I do know.” He put the papers down on the table next to Arthur’s sword and pointed toward them. “Read them or not, but know that he never wavered in putting your life above his own.”

“My father has condemned him,” Arthur said.

Gaius looked at him a moment, then nodded toward the documents. “You are not your father. Read them, Arthur, and then decide for yourself what you must do.” And with that, Gaius bowed his head and left. 

For the longest time, Arthur just stood there, staring at whatever Gaius wanted him to read. He was almost afraid of what was written there, but growing up, Gaius was always kind to him, a second, gentler father-figure, and he owed him more than he could ever repay. Reading a list of things was the least he could do.

First on the page was Lady Helen’s death. Arthur was there when she died, crushed beneath a collapsed chandelier, but he hadn’t known that Merlin had had a hand in killing her. But it made sense now that he thought of it. It was magic after all. But Valiant’s shield and the afanc and the lights which had saved Arthur in the spider’s cave were not so obviously linked to Merlin. And Arthur had always thought Lancelot had saved them all from the griffin but apparently not. No block of wood to keep Sophia from killing him and there were bandits crushed under tree limbs and a dozen other things that had been entirely too convenient. Merlin hiding in the dirt or behind trees and always using magic to save Arthur.

But among the descriptions and stark reminders of just how relentless the attacks had been was something else. Arthur remembered the Questing Beast, remembered the agony of its bite and how everyone said that they’d expected him to die. There was no cure, but somehow Gaius, miracle worker, had found it. 

Now Gaius was telling him that it was Merlin’s sacrifice instead, that Merlin offered his life for Arthur’s, and only after Merlin killed the High Priestess had Gaius and Hunith and Arthur been saved. 

And Arthur knew none of this.

In a way, it made Arthur even more furious. He’d thought it was his own heroic actions that saved Camelot, but instead, the fool who cleaned his chamber pots and made him laugh with his ridiculous antics had saved Arthur’s life. More than once.

But when the hurt and confusion and anger in his chest finally died, Arthur realised that he really was a prat. And it was time to be a hero. For Merlin’s sake.

* * *

Arthur knew it would be difficult, but he had to try and get Uther to see reason. If not, Arthur knew the siege tunnels well and there were places a fugitive could hide until Arthur could smuggle him out. It wasn’t the best solution, but at least Merlin would live, even if it wasn’t at Arthur’s side.

Confronting his father late at night was not the best of choices. Uther was usually more amenable to things in the morning. But Arthur hated the idea of having to leave Merlin in the dungeon all night, to have him think that Arthur had doomed him to the pyre, but it was too dangerous to alert him or even send Gaius or Gwen to comfort him.

Still, Arthur worried a bit, going through scenarios, planning for the best outcome but concerned that it could all go to hell very quickly.

Uther was looking over documents, writing a few lines, then putting the quill aside, he beckoned Arthur into the council chambers and gestured for him to sit down. “Have you spoken with Morgana? She is refusing to attend the feast tomorrow.”

“Morgana and I will never see eye to eye on anything so I doubt my speaking to her would have any effect. She’ll come around eventually.”

But Arthur didn’t sit. Instead, standing there, he tried to look like a supplicant and not a rebellious son. It was never good to directly oppose Uther, even in the best of times and now, Merlin’s life was in Arthur’s hands. He couldn’t fail.

Finally, Uther frowned up at him. “What is it?”

Taking a deep breath, Arthur said, “Father, I believe that Merlin should be awarded clemency for his crimes. After all, he did risk himself for me many times, and he’s shown himself to be exceptionally loyal. You even said so yourself on more than one occasion. Send him into exile if you must. But I don’t believe he deserves death for saving my life.”

For the longest time, Uther said nothing, then his eyes narrowed, his face hardened. “Exile? Are you out of your mind? He knows of all our weaknesses. The castle and its vulnerabilities, the strength of our armies, how we think and plan for attack and defence. He’s been with the royal court for years, Arthur. Plenty of time to make secret alliances with other criminals.” Uther stared at Arthur, then after taking a drink and putting the goblet back down, with all deliberation, he said, “And plenty of time to worm his way into your confidence.”

This was not going well. Arthur took a step forward, shrugging, as if it were of no consequence. “Imprison him then.”

“You can’t be serious.” Uther said, growing more and more agitated as he stared at Arthur.

Modulating his voice to softness and reason, trying not to make Uther even more angry, Arthur said, “We could use him as a tool against magic. He’s loyal to Camelot. Why not command him in this? We’d have the advantage over our enemies. They’d never expect it.”

Staring at Arthur as if he’d lost all reason, Uther sat there a moment, then rose up and walked over to Arthur. There was fury in Uther’s eyes and in his voice. “I’ve been too soft with you. To side with a sorcerer? I can’t believe what I am hearing. I should have beaten this kind of foolishness out of you long ago.”

Arthur flinched back. He should never have come. He’d only made things worse. “He put his life on the line to save mine. To reward him with death is unjust.”

“Unjust? It is I who decides what is just or unjust.” Uther got louder, his face flushing with fury. “You will stand next to me. You will support me in this, willing or unwilling. I will not have the kingdom embroiled in chaos because of your folly.”

Arthur should have known. Uther would never see reason when it came to magic. Horrified that he might have ruined his one chance to save Merlin, he bowed his head as if agreeing to his father’s command. He kept his voice low, trying to sound defeated, even as he was already plotting what to do next, and said, “Of course, Father. Camelot must come first.”

Uther smiled. Reaching out to grip Arthur’s shoulder, then letting him go, Uther said, “I am glad you agree.” Then he stepped back and shouted, “Guards!”

As several guards clattered into the room, Uther pointed to Arthur. “Escort Prince Arthur to his chambers.”

“Father?” Arthur said, already dreading the answer.

Uther ignored him, telling the guards, “He is not to leave until I call for him in the morning. And don’t let him escape or your heads will be struck from your bodies and placed on pikes for all to see, and I will make your families pay as well. Do I make myself clear?”

As the guards surrounded him, some of them placing their hands on his arms so that he couldn’t run, Arthur looked at Uther in horror.

“You will be at my side when the sorcerer is burned as a lesson to all of Camelot. Magic has no place here.” Uther smiled. “You will thank me, Arthur. Once you are free of his influence.”

As Arthur was dragged out, struggling and failing to get free, he shouted back, “Father, no.”

Uther just shrugged and went back to his papers.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur couldn’t escape. The guards were inside watching him, and more stationed at his door, the side-door, and below the windows. He couldn’t even knot sheets together and climb down. He didn’t blame the guards. After all, they were just doing their duty for their king, but if Arthur didn’t leave soon, it would be too late.

Every time he came close to the window or the door, several of them would block his path. Every exit denied him. It was making him more and more frantic.

Finally, as night turned into morning, the sunlight streaming through the closed window, Uther’s manservant, Rolf, came in and handed heavily decorated manacles to the head guard, and said, “My lord requires that Prince Arthur wear these for the ceremony.” Then with a sympathetic glance in Arthur’s direction, he said, “When Prince Arthur is restrained, to make sure he will comply with my lord’s orders, you and your company are to escort him to the balustrade overlooking the courtyard where King Uther awaits.”

The guard, Borin, the one holding the cuffs, nodded. “As the king commands.”

It was now or never. Arthur was one of the foremost warriors of Camelot, and Rolf had left the door open. Shifting one way, then barrelling into Rolf, he pushed him into two of the guards nearest him, then kicked out, bringing another guard down, leaping over him and escaping down the hall.

Arthur was fast, too. Without armour, he flew past rooms, zigzagging into little-used corridors, sprinting until he thought his heart would burst. His mind was racing, trying to figure out how to rescue Merlin before he was taken, and then both of them escaping into the woods. That it was daylight would make it that much harder, but Arthur had no choice.

Arthur knew he would have to return, though. His father would be furious, but Arthur was willing to accept the punishment, be it flogging or a month in the dungeons. At least Merlin would be alive.

But then his luck ran out. A final corridor before the dungeons, and there were a dozen guards and three knights, all waiting for him, and behind him, Borin and his group boxing him in.

As Arthur slid to a stop, Borin tackled him, then there were hands and arms holding him down and knees buried into his back. There were too many of them, and as he struggled, the damnable manacles were shoved on, first around his ankles and then as he flailed around, his wrists. Still, he bucked and pushed and swung his locked hands into Borin.

It wasn’t enough.

Not gently, one of the knights, one of his father’s, Maladrant, pulled him up. “Sire, don’t struggle. I would not wish to hurt you, but I will if I must.”

That just made things worse. Arthur tried to jerk away, but Maladrant’s grip was immovable. Arthur knew there would be bruises later, but he wasn’t going to go lightly. Planting his feet firmly, he refused to move, and Maladrant just pulled him down the hallway, half-dragging him. “My lord, please, King Uther requires your attendance.”

Arthur tried to kick him, but his bound ankles were traitors and he started to topple, only kept up by Maladrant and Borin’s hands.

“I won’t forget this,” Arthur said, still struggling every step of the way.

“Please, Sire,” Borin said, “His Highness was very clear. We can only do as he commands.”

For a moment, Arthur was ashamed. Borin was right, their lives were at stake. But so was Merlin’s. So instead, he said nothing, just focused on making it as hard as he could as they delivered him to his father.

* * *

Uther didn’t look happy. As Arthur was dragged up to the balustrade and set next to Uther, the knights and guards didn’t fade back but remained a solid presence behind him.

His father sent him a furious look, then sighed. “I had hoped you would be reasonable, Arthur, but I see that his enchantment runs deep.” Turning to him, staring at Arthur as if to overwhelm him with sheer presence, still Uther said, “Do not shame me, boy. I am not above beating your senseless if you misbehave or gag you if necessary. Stand there, be silent, and watch. It will be over soon enough.”

“You don’t have to do this. He saved my life. Surely….” Arthur started to beg, hoping at the last to reach him somehow.

Uther grabbed Arthur’s collar, shoving him back against the wall, and tightening his grip. “I said be quiet.”

This close, Arthur could see Uther’s face flush with fury, his eyes wild, but as he tried to pull Uther’s hands away from his throat, madness had given his father strength.

Trapped between Uther’s grasp and the guards surrounding him, Arthur finally nodded. It took a long time before Uther let him go.

Adjusting his tunic, Uther jerked his head toward the edge of the railing and grabbing Arthur’s bound wrists, pulled him over.

Below, the crowd was growing noisy, then silent again as Merlin was pushed toward the pyre. He was stumbling, more so than usual, and there were splotches of red on his filthy tunic as though someone had hurt him and not bothered to clean him up after.

Even from a distance, Arthur could see that Merlin had been crying. He looked defeated, too, as if he’d come to realise that there would be no rescue this time. But even then, he was searching the crowd, looking for someone.

When Merlin glanced up and saw Arthur there, the slump in his shoulders was heart-breaking. He must have thought Arthur hated him and it drove Arthur wild to see it. But there was nothing Arthur could do. His father was watching him like a hawk, and the guards were unwavering. There was nowhere to go.

Still, Arthur lifted his arms up so that Merlin could see the manacles, and Merlin jerked a little, still staring at Arthur, even as the guards manhandled Merlin up onto the wooden stake and tied him to it.

Uther began to speak to the crowd, talking about magic and how it corrupted even the lowest of them, and droned on a minute or two. but Arthur wasn’t paying attention. Instead he was watching Merlin, hoping against hope that Merlin would use his magic somehow, to misdirect or cause rain to fall or something, anything.

But there was nothing.

Finally, Arthur had had enough. Arthur shouted, “Use your magic, you idiot. Escape while….”

In the next moment, his face erupted in pain. Arthur touched the spot, his hand coming away bloody. Uther had attacked him, knocking him down. As he was pulled back up, Uther snarled to one of the guards, “Gag him.” Then he turned to Arthur, saying, “You will regret that.”

A filthy cloth was thrust into his mouth, and he was pushed to the railing again, his father’s grip tight on his shoulder. Uther’s voice boomed out, strong and sure, “Magic corrupts even those most valiant and brave. But burning the sorcerer will bring us peace and a new beginning.”

With that, Uther nodded, and a guard thrust the torch into the wood. 

The firewood must have been dry because the wood caught quickly. Wet logs would smoke enough to stun and bring a merciful end. But Uther clearly wanted Merlin to suffer, to watch as his flesh cooked and blood boiled, to listen to him scream. 

Trying to jerk away, his father’s hand like a steel trap, all Arthur could do was let out a sob. The eager flames were already licking at Merlin’s feet.

Arthur kept thinking, ‘ _use your magic, use your magic, I know you can_ ’. But Merlin just stood there, his blue eyes flashing gold, reflecting the colour of the firelight, and Arthur couldn’t stand it. He’d never forgive Uther for it.

In the next instant, as Merlin started to shriek, pain-filled cries, the flames shot up, the gold red horror of it surrounding him. The blaze began to twist around, faster and faster, looking more like a fire-fed whirlwind than anything else. Sparks and cinders were flying everywhere as the wind picked up, impossibly fast, and began to spit out chunks of hot coals into the crowd.

Whatever it was, Merlin was at the very centre of it.

One final scream, sounding heartbreakingly like ‘ _Arthur’_ , echoed in the courtyard, and then silence. The cyclone collapsed back into burning wood and smoke, the pyre crumbling under its own weight, although still glowing red-hot. In the courtyard, there were black smudges smeared on the stones where burnt wood had tumbled down. Several of the crowd slapped at their clothing, their dresses and tunics singed from the flames.

Merlin was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

There weren’t even bones left. Arthur found out later that Uther had his guards search for any trace of a body, but the fire had been so hot, even some of the stones underneath had fused, turning into glass. No one could have survived that.

Still, Uther blamed Arthur for the silence and side-ways glances at the feast, how the entertainment had fallen flat, and people muttering in the halls after. Apparently, Merlin had been more popular than expected, although no one would tell the king that. But the people must have seen how Merlin risked everything to save Arthur and how his reward for it was a gruesome death. 

Sitting in the dungeon—his punishment for going against his father, Arthur ignored Uther railing at him for such a public display of rebellion. The guards staring at him, Maladrant coming later to apologise, even Gaius coming finally to tend to Arthur’s face wound which had begun to fester were of little importance. 

He had failed Camelot and the people he swore to protect, but mostly he had failed Merlin.

And he didn’t know how to fix it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

He grieved for Merlin. At times, the loss was so painful that he could barely breathe. He didn’t cry, though. What good were tears when nothing would bring Merlin back? Instead, he picked at his food and stared up into the night through bars of iron. He would gaze for hours at the moon and watch the stars wheel across the sky. 

But sometimes, he thought he might be going mad. Sometimes, when he was half-asleep, he thought he could hear Merlin’s voice coming through the opening high above his head. It was always cheerful, telling Arthur to think of the future, that he would be a great king someday but not if he kept being such a prat about things. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was it just a memory that he repeated so often to himself that it seemed to take on a life of its own? Or was it the madness which sometimes ran in his family and only now beginning to surface?

He thought about asking Gaius about it, but the man was moving more slowly these days, as if the last of his strength had died with Merlin.

Morgana, too, was paler, her eyes darting everywhere, looking for ghosts or maybe feeling a bit lost. She didn’t say much. They didn’t argue at all, but she seemed to settle the next time she visited. She told Arthur she was going away to Gorlois’s estate in Cornwall to take up her duties as heir. Uther opposed it, but when she pointed out that she had obligations, she said Uther reluctantly agreed to let her go for a few months.

She had no intention of returning.

Only once did she mention Merlin. Laying her hand on his through the bars of the cell, she leaned forward and whispered in his ear, too soft for the guards to hear, “Don’t blame yourself, Arthur. I think Merlin saw how it was in the end. We all did. He loved you in his own clumsy way, and I think he’d want you to live again.” Then letting go, she stood back a bit, “Be the king you are meant to be and maybe the rest of us can someday breathe easier for it.”

“I failed him,” Arthur said, the horror of what he’d done and not done thick in his throat.

“Yes, you did. But he loved you anyway. So remember that and try to do better in future.” She was never one to mince words, but in a way, acknowledging it made things a little better. When he nodded, she said, “I’ll send word once I’m settled.”

“I loved him, too.” Arthur couldn’t believe that he’d said it, but once he had, the truth of it burrowed deep into his chest. “I never told him because well… there wasn’t any point. I just mocked him and threw things at him instead and he never… knew.”

She only nodded, and said, “Then honour him. Learn what he was, what he loved, what he feared, and most of all, about his magic.” When Arthur started to shake his head, knowing that magic was forbidden, that it corrupted and destroyed, Morgana just sighed. “Merlin used magic to cure you and he died for it. It can’t be all bad, no matter what Uther says. But go ahead, be a prat. It’s what you do best.”

She wasn’t wrong, no matter how much he wanted her to be. “Morgana, I… I’ll keep an open mind. For Merlin’s sake.”

“There might be hope for you yet.” She sent him a brilliant smile, then turned sombre again. “I’m taking Gwen with me.”

Once upon a time, Arthur might have wanted to object. Guinevere and he had the potential for something but his feelings for Merlin confused him and that led him to both push her away and pull her close and the timing was never right. But with Merlin’s death, all the tangled feelings he’d once felt for her withered away. Nodding, he said, “She will be safer with you. Take care of her and tell her I wish her well in her new life.”

Reaching out, she gripped his hand again for a moment, then let him go. “I will. Good-bye, Arthur.”


	4. Chapter 4

Merlin was haunting him. That was the only explanation. In the dungeon, Arthur was having conversations with air and it was answering him back. The guards would look at him askance, then deliver food, change his straw, and back away from him. It wasn’t like the cell Merlin had been in. It was almost comfortable, but the water dripping and the sounds of Merlin’s voice coming through the opening high above his head was making him a little crazed and a lot grief-stricken.

Arthur tried not to think about it.

It didn’t help that Gaius was looking better. He even smiled the last time he visited Arthur and patted his hand and told him not to worry so much.

Arthur took a chance, knowing that Gaius had once studied magic, and asked him about Merlin’s powers, that he wanted to learn the nuances of magic, its good and bad points. “Merlin saved my life so many times. Knowing him, he probably complained endlessly about it.” Gaius gave Arthur a little nod, and a shrug as if to say Arthur wasn’t wrong. Arthur just rolled his eyes. “Of course, he did. But idiotic as he was, I can’t believe that he was evil or corrupt, certainly not as my father has defined it.”

“My lord?” Gaius sounded surprised.

Of course, Gaius would think Arthur hardened against magic. After all, until Arthur tried to rescue Merlin, he’d always gone along with Uther.

Arthur gave Gaius a little sad smile. “I miss him, Gaius. It is my fault he’s dead, and he didn’t deserve any of it, not my censure nor my condemnation. Our last hour together… we were angry with each other and he was afraid, and I was… I was cruel. I said things that I will regret to my dying day.” For a moment, he closed his eyes, remembering the grief in Merlin’s eyes when they argued. Arthur only hoped that Merlin knew better when he died on that horrible day. “If I could trade my life for his, I would do so gladly, but it’s not possible. But what I can do is learn about magic and make up my own mind about it, not let my father’s hatred cloud my judgement. For Merlin’s sake.”

Gaius glanced over his shoulder, turning grave, then said, “Your father has forbidden any discussion of it.”

Leaning close, Arthur whispered, “Then we won’t tell him.”

Not surprisingly, Gaius just hummed a bit, ignoring Arthur’s gaze, then nodded toward the scar on Arthur’s face. “Your wound is healed. You are to be released tomorrow. I believe your father will not allow you the freedom you had before, not without a grand showing of your acceptance that justice was served when Merlin was executed and you were wrong to oppose the king.”

Arthur looked away, letting out a long, hard sigh. “We both know that isn’t true.”

“You are too honourable for your own good at times, my lord,” Gaius said, standing back and looking at Arthur with exasperation in his gaze. “Sometimes, bowing to another’s power would allow you the freedom to garner your own.”

Much as Arthur trusted Gaius, the man could be wily and not-quite-truthful although never a blatant enough liar to be called out on it. Arthur always had to think beyond the surface with him. Gaius’s pronouncements had layers upon layers.

It took several seconds before Arthur finally said, “Are you telling me to lie to my father?”

Gaius pulled that I-can’t-believe-you-don’t-understand-what-I’m-saying face. But instead of pointing it out that lying was the only way to gain his freedom, Gaius spread his hands wide. “If you want to be allowed to travel further than the walls of the citadel, you will have to be… careful in what you tell your father. If you truly want to learn about magic. He would never allow it otherwise.”

“My father’s obsession with magic has clouded his judgment.” Arthur couldn’t believe he was saying it. For so long, he’d accepted it all without much thought. Now he was thinking too much.

Gaius’s eyes were sharp, then nodding to himself, he said, “What would you say to Merlin if he were here now?”

Even now, it hurt to think about what Arthur had done. He could still see Merlin’s devastated face that night in the cell and the slump of his shoulders as he was pulled onto the pyre. It took a while to clear his head.

Finally, Arthur said, “That I’d beg his forgiveness for misjudging him. I reacted poorly to the lies, but he wasn’t wrong in keeping his magic secret from me. When I did find out, I acted just as he’d expected. I thought myself an honourable man, worthy of trust, and the knowledge that I am not… well, let’s just say, I’ll try to do better in future. To honour his memory.” 

Gaius watched him carefully as if looking into Arthur’s heart, to see if he was sincere. When Arthur was done speaking, Gaius gave him a little smile and a shrug. “I think Merlin would forgive you anything.”

Arthur nodded. Then since they were being honest with each other, Arthur said, “Did you know that I can hear him sometimes? He calls me idiot and clotpole and dollophead.”

“Indeed, my lord.” Gaius didn’t look surprised which in itself was a surprise. Surely, he must have thought Arthur confused or delusional about it. Arthur expected him to offer him a potion to ward off such things. But instead, Gaius said, “If Merlin were still alive, he’d be foolish to speak with you. It would be dangerous. But then Merlin never listened to anything but his heart.”

“He always led with his heart. It’s what killed him in the end.” Arthur said. “But it was the best part of him.”

Gaius stared at Arthur, a thoughtful frown on his face. Finally, he must have come to some kind of decision.

Stepping closer, soft and low so that no one else could hear, Gaius said, “Merlin’s body was never found. Any remnants would have vaporized in the heat of the conflagration.”

For some reason, Arthur’s heart began to beat again. “What are you saying?”

Gaius gave him another look of exasperation. “Nothing, my lord. Just that Merlin’s body was never found. Should I say anything else?” Then he stood back and watched Arthur carefully.

Knowing how Gaius’s mind worked, the intricacies of what he would say and not say, the implications of a body not found and Gaius repeating it because Arthur was too much of an idiot to understand, Arthur began to hope again. It was impossible. Merlin was dead but there was no body and Gaius seemed lighter these days, not as grief-stricken as he had been the day Merlin died.

Still, Arthur couldn’t really wrap his head around it. “I saw him die. It’s not possible that he lived after that. Unless… there had been whirlwinds before and people disappearing into them. But surely Merlin was not strong enough for that kind of… unless….”

Arthur started turning round and round in the cell, half-muttering to himself. His heart was soaring even though his head was telling him that it was impossible, that no one could have survived that.

But Gaius was standing there, patient and understanding, not shaking his head as if Arthur were a madman, but as a teacher might, waiting for his student to reach the obvious answer.

Finally, Arthur stopped and said, “He’s alive?”

Never one to a straight answer when a convoluted one would do, Gaius shrugged. “You have said it yourself. It is impossible, is it not? Even if Merlin were the most powerful sorcerer I’d ever known?” As Arthur gaped at him, Gaius said, “But I believe that your people would welcome their prince back.”

It was as if the sun had come out and settled into Arthur’s chest. Almost giddy with relief, Arthur reached out and hugged Gaius, lifting him up and twirling him around, the old man sputtering the entire time. Arthur wanted to laugh and cry and run out of the cell and wrap his arms around Merlin and never let him go.

Finally, he stepped back, watching as, pink-faced, Gaius tugged his robes back into order. Arthur, still shaking with the news, said, “Where is he?”

Gaius glanced around, making sure that there were no guards to listen in or that the elation in Arthur’s voice hadn’t travelled up through the opening high over their heads. When he seemed certain that no one could hear him, he said, “The lower town has many citizens, Sire, some newly come to Camelot. I am sure you would benefit from meeting them. Although none you would recognise. Certain faces might bring renewed questions.”

Arthur had to wonder about that. If Merlin, stupid, clumsy, impossible Merlin showed up again, Uther wouldn’t bother with fire. He would chop Merlin’s head off without ceremony, without waiting for trials or justice, and there would be no coming back. 

Gaius said, “But first, you must become circumspect, my lord, because the king will not allow a rebellious son his freedom.”

Arthur could do that.

* * *

Uther must have noticed how much happier Arthur was next time Arthur was hauled up before him and he mistakenly assumed that the Merlin’s ‘spell’ had been broken at last. Arthur didn’t set him straight, either.

It was difficult, though. Arthur wasn’t used to lying and keeping his face from betraying him took constant vigilance.

At first, he was let back into his old chambers, a faceless, silent new manservant attending him, although Arthur suspected that the manservant was more spy than servant. But Gaius didn’t talk with him again, not while he was under such close watch, and Arthur deliberately didn’t seek him out nor did he wander the castle, spy-manservant in tow, and search for new faces and old.

Arthur trained in the morning, attended luncheon and supper with his father, then retired early. The times with his father were the hardest because he wanted to scream at him, but instead, he stayed calm, answered all Uther’s questions with false sincerity, especially about Merlin and sorcery, and nodded at all the right moments.

It must have worked. Finally, Uther called the court into session, and Arthur abased himself as Uther demanded and swore his loyalty to his king with a ringing voice and straight shoulders and clear eyes. 

Uther seemed to preen at that, smiling, as he raised Arthur back up. “Let this be a lesson to those who would defend magic. Even the strongest of us can be ensnared by its base corruption but with a pure heart and clear conscience, we can all overcome its insidious reach. My son, Arthur, has sworn to me that he will do everything in his power to root out the evils of magic in Camelot. We will cleanse our lands and bring about peace at long last.”

Standing there, his face betraying nothing, Arthur shouted out, “Long live the King!”

And as the multitude echoed his words, Arthur thought that maybe, just maybe, it would be all right after all. 

* * *

Some time later, Arthur dismissed the spy, and Uther allowed it. Arthur began to talk to Gaius about magic, but only after he ‘injured’ himself during training so that he would have a reason to talk with the old man. They kept things very low key, no books, no trail of any kind to make his father suspicious. But he didn’t ask where Merlin was. It was still too soon.

Arthur went back on patrol duty. Uther sent Maladrant with him but Arthur knew Merlin wouldn’t be near so he relaxed and let himself enjoy the day.

The second patrol was a bit more problematic, with bandits and some issues of tree branches snapping at just the right moments. But Arthur didn’t see Merlin anywhere, just guards, old and new, and his father’s knights, so he put it out of his mind as coincidence.

After that, it became clearer that Merlin was helping somehow, and Arthur began to search among the newcomers for some recognizable trace. If the idiot got himself killed again, Arthur would never forgive him. But he never could figure out which of the guards it was or if it were guards at all or some kind of protective magic, so he decided to finally meet up with Merlin and try and talk the idiot out of such foolishness.

Besides, he ached to see him again and his father seemed to have all but forgotten the dead servant.


	5. Chapter 5

Arthur started to walk through the lower town on a daily basis. He told Uther it was to look for signs of magic, and in a way, it was true. But it also helped connect him with his people. Too often, the court intimidated those of peasant stock, but Arthur found that he could get a better sense of Camelot if he were seen looking out for those less fortunate. Plus it would get Uther used to Arthur going to the lower town and not questioning him about it.

But mostly, he wanted to find Merlin and beg his forgiveness. He’d been cautious long enough and he knew that Gaius often went there, shopping for pots and herbs and things for his potions, and meeting with Merlin secretly. 

Finally, Gaius gave him a name, Wyllt, and directions to Merlin’s hut. Much as he wanted to run to him that instant, he’d learned over the last weeks to be patient. Still, as Arthur walked through the lower town, when he finally spotted Merlin, he wanted to laugh. Or mock him mercilessly.

Long white hair, a wrinkled face and hands, Wyllt acted like a cantankerous old fool. Most would have given him no mind, would have thought him just another old man complaining about his aches and pains and how the young never give old people the respect they deserve. But his eyes gave Merlin away.

Arthur didn’t approach him just then, but waited until dark, after another supper with his father and the endless talk of magic’s evil intent, before going to see the old man.

Sometimes Merlin didn’t have the sense of a newt, never mind that of a law-breaking, hiding-in-plain-sight sorcerer.

No one followed him though, and as Arthur was let into the old man’s house, a small place full of pots and herbs and an unmade bed, Merlin pretended not to know him. “Your Highness, you do me great honour.”

Well, two could play that game. “Gaius recommended you. I’ve lost an old friend due to my own folly, someone very dear to me, and I want him back.” When Wyllt just hummed his disapproval and glowered at him, Arthur took a step toward him and said, “I’m willing to pay any price you ask if you will find him and give him a message for me.”

In a gravelly voice, with eyes narrowed and suspicious, Wyllt said, “And if he doesn’t want to be found?”

At least, Merlin had learned caution. Arthur wanted to mock him and beg for forgiveness and wrestle him to the ground and ruffle his hair—well once Merlin turned back into himself. Wrestling an old man with long white hair wasn’t nearly as appealing and he’d be afraid of hurting him, unlike a normal Merlin who could take it and give back as good as he got.

Shaking off such thoughts, Arthur said, “I think he does want to be found. Otherwise, he wouldn’t still be in Camelot, protecting me, like the idiot he is.”

“Why would anyone want to protect a supercilious prat like you?” Then, his eyes widening, Merlin hastened to say, “My lord.”

Oh, that insulting, reckless mouth of his. He’d missed Merlin’s prattle so much and he wanted to laugh, to pick up Merlin and give him the hug of his life. He even started to reach for him, but Merlin, Wyllt, just stared at him as if Arthur were out of his mind.

Arthur was disappointed but it was not unexpected. Letting his arms fall to his side, Arthur said, “I don’t know why he’d protect me, either. I’d made so many mistakes with him. I thought we were friends even though I’d often deny it to my great shame. I hope he’ll forgive me some day for all the wrongs I’ve done him. He is my best and dearest friend and I’ll never let him down again.” 

Wyllt backed up, bumping into the table, then sat down on the bench next to it. He looked pale, and if Wyllt had really been an old man, Arthur might have worried about him. “And why didn’t you tell him that long ago?”

Arthur shrugged, ashamed of it all. “He would tell you it’s because I’m a prat and a cabbagehead and a clotpole and they would be all true, but mostly, because I was afraid of how he made me feel.”

As Wyllt stared up at him, Arthur got down on one knee, reached out and took Merlin’s hand in his. “I know it’s you. Your eyes give you away. Merlin, please, I just want to… please.”

At the back of Arthur’s mind, his father was screaming at him to stop abasing himself before a peasant and a vile sorcerer, that a prince never knelt before anyone but a king. That he should never show anyone just how much he cared, that it made him vulnerable and easy to manipulate. That to be king, he had to be always alone. But Arthur wanted none of it. 

When Merlin didn’t pull his hand away, Arthur leaned over, resting his forehead on Merlin’s knee and just breathed, as he waited for Merlin’s reply.

The touch was tentative, then Arthur could feel Merlin’s fingers carding through Arthur’s hair. It was a comfort, a way of connecting. Arthur never wanted it to stop. He didn’t dare say anything for fear of scaring Merlin away.

Finally, Merlin said, “Gaius told me about what you said but it still hurts. I trusted you.” Arthur just nodded against Merlin’s knee. “When we argued in the cell, I thought it was over, that you hated me. But then I saw you struggling and when Uther hit you, I knew I had to live, for my sake and yours.”

Arthur looked up at that. Merlin’s eyes were wet and the mane of white framed his face. But Merlin’s fingers were still caught in Arthur’s hair, and his palm cupping Arthur’s face. Arthur reached up and pressed Merlin’s palm tighter against his skin a moment before letting go. “I know you can never forget the past, but I hope that you can see how very much I regret everything I’ve done.”

Merlin nodded, then sat up, pulling away from Arthur, Merlin’s hands now clasped loose in his lap. He smiled a little, sad but the grin growing wider.

“I could never say no to you. Even when you are being a cabbagehead.” It sounded like Merlin, too, not some crotchety old fool.

Letting out a long, relieved sigh, Arthur got up and sat next to Merlin. “You are in danger here. If they found out, it wouldn’t be a pyre but an axe. You should leave. I can give you enough coin to settle elsewhere.”

“And who would protect you?” Merlin looked at him as if Arthur had lost his mind.

Still stubborn as ever. “Merlin, please, you have to go.”

Merlin flipped his long white hair, shaking it a little so that some hit Arthur in the face, then gave Arthur a crazed old man grin. In a wavering voice, he said, “It’s Wyllt now and I’m just a cranky harmless old fool.”

Spitting out some of the hairs which had caught in Arthur’s mouth, Arthur said, “It’s not a good look.”

Merlin looked fake-offended. One hand against his chest, Merlin said, “I’ll have you know that Mrs Jenkins down at the weaver’s shop thinks I’m handsome.”

“Mrs Jenkins is 80 years old and has no teeth.” Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Well, at least someone wants me,” Merlin said, half-teasing but underneath, there was hurt and longing and the cruel memory of all that had happened between them in the dungeon.

Normally, Arthur would punch Merlin in the arm, trying to cheer him up, and Merlin would scowl and rub his skin and accuse Arthur of being thick. But now, Arthur could only stare at Merlin and put as much of his love and concern into his voice as he could.

“Merlin, Wyllt, whatever, you were always wanted. Although the long white hair and perpetual scowl aren’t exactly what dreams are made of. Nightmares more like.” Arthur gave Merlin a little playful grin, then turned sombre again. “Merlin, please go. If he finds you here, he will kill you.”

“I can take care of myself.” Shaking his head, Merlin’s mouth flattened, as stubborn as any mule. “I’m not leaving you.”

“You are an idiot.” Arthur scowled, unable to think of a way to get around Merlin’s complete foolishness about protecting Arthur. As if he couldn’t protect himself.

“Takes one to know one,” Merlin said, then perked up, tossing his mop of hair over his shoulder again. It was almost as if Merlin were doing it on purpose, that he knew the long hair would go straight for Arthur’s mouth and Arthur would be spitting out strands for quite some time. Merlin took one lock of hair, twisting it around one finger, then letting go, then his hands smoothed down his chest as if showing off his physique, not that an old man’s torso was all that interesting.

Grinning, Merlin said, “Besides, I have a few disguises. If Wyllt is discovered, I still have the Dolma and Mary and a thick knight named Lamorak. Oh, and Ulric the guard.”

Arthur’s mind was whirling at the idea of so many possibilities. That Merlin could hide in plain sight, using a plethora of disguises was pretty remarkable. He wondered if other sorcerers could do that or only Merlin.

Then his brain caught up with what Merlin was saying. “Wait, you can pretend to be a woman? How is that possible? Is that why you kept stealing Morgana’s dresses?”

Merlin looked at him as if Arthur had hit his head again. Sounding very put upon, Merlin said, “It’s only an outward appearance. I don’t actually change into a woman, you toad.” Then when Arthur opened his mouth to ask for more information, Merlin scowled at him. “You’re going to mock me, aren’t you?”

Grinning, Arthur said, “Well, you always were a girl’s petticoat. I just didn’t know how much.”

Merlin pushed him off the bench, but Arthur just laughed as he stood back up. Then turning away, Merlin muttered something, and his hair turned dark, growing shorter, his body thinning, his face smoothing back into the beloved one Arthur had longed to see once more.

Stretching a little, Merlin stood up, too. “Holding the glamour is difficult for long. I feel all the aches of age and catching my breath sometimes is hard. Honestly, after the first time, I felt badly for Gaius. He was always complaining about aches and pains, but I figured he was just making noise. I had no idea.”

Arthur didn’t care. He swept Merlin up into his arms, hugging him tightly, his chin resting on Merlin’s shoulder, his cheek rubbing against that soft hair of his. Tears clogged his throat and his arms tightened, never wanting to let him go. At first, Merlin was rigid with surprise, then he melted into it and hugged Arthur back.

Whispering into Merlin’s skin, Arthur said, “I missed you. So much. I never thought I’d see you again and now that you are here, I’m selfish enough to want you to stay. Merlin….”

Against Arthur’s throat, there was moisture and a brush of lips. “I never wanted to go. I just thought you hated me.”

For a moment, Arthur didn’t move, shocked and yet hopeful that he wasn’t wrong, that Merlin felt more than just friendship. “I could never hate you, idiot. But don’t tell Wyllt that. I wouldn’t want some old man to get the wrong idea.”

Merlin gave a little huff of laughter. Nosing up behind Arthur’s ear, his mouth soft on Arthur’s skin, Merlin said, “And a younger man?”

It could be an accident, that Merlin’s mouth was just resting there because they were hugging, even though it was long past the time most friends would let go. Most friends would pat each other on the back and smile and separate and then never talk of it again. But Merlin wasn’t pulling away and neither was Arthur.

Instead, Arthur gathered him closer, relishing the feel of that wiry body, an unspoken hardness that was definitely not friendship growing between them. He pressed his mouth to Merlin’s skin, his tongue tasting the salt there, feeling Merlin’s pulse quicken underneath. It was wonderful and terrifying and so much more than alright.

Against Merlin’s throat, Arthur said, “Merlin, I can’t say what I really feel. It’s not that I don’t, but love is hard and I’m not good with words. They only confuse things.”

“Love is always confusing, especially when prats are involved,” Merlin said, finally pulling back. Blue eyes flecked with gold searching and finding the truth in Arthur’s eyes.

“And idiots, too,” Arthur whispered.

That was enough. Merlin was always braver than Arthur and he dove in, kissing Arthur as if it was his last chance. Open-mouthed and desperate and incredible, his tongue sweeping in, and when Arthur kissed him back, groaning out his delight.

Arthur’s heart began to soar, and he couldn’t catch his breath, but Merlin took charge, his hands snaking under Arthur’s tunic, seeking skin. Merlin’s fingers were busy, brushing against Arthur’s nipples, working them into hard peaks, sending pleasure across his skin and down into his cock and back again. And then, Merlin’s hands swept down to cup Arthur’s arse and squeezing it a bit.

But Arthur wasn’t one to be left behind. Unbuttoning the old-man robe, letting it fall at Merlin’s feet, Arthur was mouthing at Merlin’s throat, sucking there, bruising enough to leave a mark, and it thrilled him somehow to know that Merlin would be his at last. In a way, he had always been Arthur’s. But now finally, he could take and give and know it would be all right.

Under the robe, Merlin had a thin undertunic and braies. Arthur’s hands were all over him, pulling the material up and shoving it down, laying Merlin bare. He’d never seen Merlin completely nude unlike Merlin who had bathed a naked Arthur many times.

Merlin was wiry and perfect, cock just the right size to fit into Arthur’s hand.

Merlin was already leaking, slick against Arthur’s skin, and Arthur was soaring on the knowledge that he’d done that. Twisting his hand just so, listening to Merlin’s breathing, feeling him growing harder, hotter, saying something about prats and please and Arthur, it was its own ecstasy.

There was a growing feeling of intensity bursting in his groin. Merlin was touching him just there and it was so fast and so strong that Arthur couldn’t even understand why they hadn’t done this months ago.

Merlin dove back into kissing him, biting at Arthur’s lip, then licking it as if to soothe or maybe to intensify the feeling. Arthur mirrored him, kissing, licking, trying to press pleasure into each moment, the movement of wet and warm and wild, driving him up and up.

Into Arthur’s hand, there was a spurt of wet heat and Merlin groaned, long and low, then his body seemed to grow limp under Arthur’s hands. He didn’t let go, though, just tucked his chin on Arthur’s shoulder and held him close.

That he’d managed to bring Merlin to ecstasy was enough. White brilliance spread through Arthur, every nerve firing pleasure, and it was all he could do to stand and ride through it.

And after it was over, after the pleasure had wrung everything out of him, they slumped down to the floor and lay tangled there, panting out the last of their ecstasy.

Finally, Merlin gave a little snort, then pointed down to his boots and his braies caught there. They hadn’t had time to strip, and it was ridiculous and brilliant and Arthur wanted to do it all again as soon as he caught his breath.

Looking at him with worry in his eyes, Merlin said, “Umm, that was….”

But Arthur could see that Merlin was thinking about what they had just done. Arthur had been a prat in the past, telling him that they could never be friends. He shouted at Merlin for his opinions, he mocked him endlessly for things not always Merlin’s fault. Of course, Merlin would think this was a one-off, that they got caught up in the moment. Of course, he would want to make it seem like it was nothing to protect himself from Arthur’s stupidity.

Arthur wasn’t having any of that. “Merlin, no. No umm. No ‘thanks but see you around’. No to ‘it can’t happen again’. Well, if that’s what you want, then of course, we’ll never speak of it again but that’s… not what I want.”

Merlin bit at his lip, already red from Arthur’s kisses. “But what about Gwen?”

Knowing that Merlin would willingly sacrifice himself for his friends, Arthur said, “When you died, or I thought you died, anything between Guinevere and I died, too. When I lost you, I realised that… I didn’t hate you at all, quite the opposite. She’s with Morgana at Tintagel and likely to stay there. I wish her well.”

Staring at Arthur, Merlin seemed to process it all, frowning, then a growing smile, then fondness. It amazed Arthur that Merlin hid his magic for so long. Merlin always wore his heart on his sleeve.

Wiping his wet hand across Merlin’s tunic, Merlin sending him a scowl at that, Arthur stood up and began to right his clothing and Merlin’s, too. As he did so, he said, “We are going to do that again, properly next time.”

“What do you mean properly? I was perfect,” Merlin said, glaring at Arthur.

Arthur just rolled his eyes. “I mean in a bed, where I can taste every inch of you, where I can shove my very impressive cock up your arse and you will like it.”

“Who says it won’t be my cock up your arse next time?” Merlin’s smile turned cheeky, and he raised one eyebrow, looking a mockery of Gaius’s. Then as Arthur glared at him, he batted his eyes and tried to look gormless.

It was all Arthur could do not to laugh. “Merlin?”

“Yes, Arthur?” Oh, Merlin’s voice had always been the perfect combination of subservience and sarcasm. Now was no different. 

“Shut up.” Pressing his lips together as if to mimic silence, Merlin blinked at him. Arthur swore that Merlin could say a thousand words with just one look, and it made him smile to see it again. “I’m glad you are here, Merlin. Even though it’s madness for you to remain.”

“I’m glad I’m here, too.” Putting on his robe again, brushing his fingers through his hair, Merlin said, “It’s going to be all right. It’s destiny, after all.” When Arthur just shook his head, Merlin smiled, then he turned a little mischievous. “And don’t worry, next time I’ll introduce you to The Dolma. She’s a bit of a flirt. Long straggly white hair, wrinkles down to there, her clothes looking like she slept in them.”

Arthur was horrified. “I’m not having relations with an old woman.”

Merlin’s smile turned sultry. “Oh, I don’t know. It might be fun.”

“Merlin!” Arthur wasn’t sure he was being teased or not, but in the next breathless moment, Merlin laughed, then leaned over, and kissed him again.

It was then that Arthur knew. As long as they were together, it would be all right after all.

That is, as long as he didn’t have to have sex with the Dolma. Even he had to draw the line somewhere.

The end.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Prompt:** Something inspired by this gifset at https://tsundereslasher.tumblr.com/post/22937735427. “I’m curious, what hurts more? Thinking you should hate him, or knowing that you don’t?” Particularly partial to a conflicted Arthur publicly defying his father to save Merlin from the pyre.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.


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